


Les Jumeaux Justiciers

by StTabris



Category: Black Lagoon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Blow Jobs, Dark Comedy, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lolicon, M/M, Multi, Murder, Non-Consensual Bondage, Past Child Abuse, Rimming, Shotacon, Sibling Incest, Torture, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StTabris/pseuds/StTabris
Summary: A pedophile gets more than he bargained for on a "date."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture: http://gelbooru.com/index.php?page=post&s=view&id=804563

Grunts and growls emanated from the white Nissan Cube parked all by its lonesome in New Roads, Louisiana. In the low light of the moon, the van’s chubby, hairy occupant could be seen—albeit barely so—struggling to get through the door. Mumbling a variety of colorful words not fit to be heard by the sort of person he intended to meet, the man managed to extricate himself without damaging the assortment of candies, condoms and personal lubricants he carried in a small box. He squinted at the sticky note posted on top, making sure he had the right address. Huzzah, huzzah! _Finally_ , he was going to score—have a nice little threesome with adolescent twins, and no one would ever know!

The would-be child molester walked up to the porch, looked around for any potential witnesses, then finding none, rapped on the door to the tune of “Shave and a Haircut”—the agreed-upon code. The answering knock of “two bits” made his gleeful grin spread, and he opened the door, crossed the threshold—and came face-to-face with a grown man in a black suit and red tie. There was a moment of stunned silence, quickly broken by the man in the suit, who gestured behind him and said by way of greeting, “Wanna explain what you're doing here?”

Confounded, the kid-lover stammered, “U-uh, I…I must have the wrong address—”

“No, no,” said the other fellow in an eerily friendly tone, “you came to the right place. Sit down. Have a seat.”

A burst of childish masculine laughter sounded out of the blue. The fat man’s eyes darted from side to side. “What was that? Did you hear that?” he said in a hushed voice.

“Hear what?” asked the suit-clad man, a strange look in his eyes. There came more giggling, this time that of a preteen girl.

“ _That!_ ” squawked the child-molester hopeful as he fidgeted. “Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that!” He took a closer look at his confronter. “You, uh…” he muttered, “…you look sort of familiar.”

Mr. Suit-and-Spiffy-Hairdo continued to stare, as if into his soul. There was something very, very off about him. “Well, I used to be on TV. Maybe you saw me in a few commercials,” said the man with a nonchalant chuckle. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re here to have sexual relations with a minor. What's in the box?”

The pervert’s jaw—and the box he held—dropped and he broke into a nervous sweat. _I’ve been discovered! Okay, keep cool. You can still get out._ “I’m sorry,” he said with a scratch of his stubbly beard, “I think there’s been a terrible mistake.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Here.” Out of thin air, the suit presented a stack of papers to his alarmed guest. The creep took it and inspected the text. His blood ran cold.

_ShotaMustGoOn216: u like anal?_

_GunLoliG: yes im rly in2 it, my brother does it 2 me all the time_

_ShotaMustGoOn216: does he like getting fucked 2?_

_GunLoliG: yes he lets me peg him sometimes_

_ShotaMustGoOn216: kewl_

He began to shake in dread as he read through transcript after transcript. It was all there—every last come-on and innuendo! He had to get out!

A creepy smile grew on the brown-haired dude’s face as he walked nearer. “You ask her if she has rape fantasies. You ask her if she likes felching.” They were nearly nose-to-nose now. “C’mon. Why don’t you have a seat over there?” He grabbed the deviant by the wrist.

“Hey!” The pedo shrugged him off and made for the door. “You’re fucking weird, man!”

Suddenly, as he took hold of the doorknob, the man in the black suit seized him by the neck, grip incredibly, _inhumanly_ strong. “I _SAID_ —” The pervert was lifted clear off the floor. “—WHY DON’T YOU—” The dude’s expression turned sadistic. “—HAVE A SEAT—” His arm drew back, back, back… “—OVER _THERE?_ ”

The pedophile hurtled across the room, screaming, and the air rushed from his lungs until he crashed through the wall onto the top of the basement stairs. He rolled down the steps, in agony, wondering, _How did he know?!_ Then his head met the cold tile floor, and he wasn’t thinking anything at all. The last thing he heard was giggling…psychotic adolescent giggling.

“ _Time to play…_ ”


	2. Playtime

It was cold and dark in the basement. A single bare lightbulb provided little in the way of illumination. Stacked against the walls or set on a table were a variety of instruments: hacksaws, nail guns, slip-joint pliers, ice axes, cattle prods, Tasers. The walls were discolored here and there by brown or carmine blots. A vile if tolerable stench permeated the room.

It was in this unsettling environment that the fat, bearded kid-lover regained consciousness. When he tried to get up, he found he had been stripped naked, gagged and bound by the limbs in a stress position. He could barely even roll over.

“Good,” said a voice, its owner out of sight. “It’s about time you woke up.”

The would-be child molester protested through the duct-tape gag as the man in the suit and tie from before stepped from the shadows. “That was very rude of you to refuse my hospitality. You could have at least sat down.” When his victim did not cease babbling in fear, the man grabbed one end of the tape and tore it off in a single fluid motion. The pedophile yelped as bits of skin were peeled from his lips. “Now…are you going to be more affable or am I going to have to do the same thing to your junk?”

The plump pedo croaked out a hoarse “okay.” He looked up at his captor. “Shit. _Now_ I know who you are…” he gasped. “You’re…Chris Hansen.”

“ _No, we’re not…_ ” answered two childlike, Eastern-European-accented voices in unison. Hansen wobbled and... _deflated_ —

The pervert took a closer look, not quite believing his eyes—and was horror-struck. The thing was indeed the _Dateline_ host—or rather, it _had_ been. Hansen had been murdered, and his assassins had skinned him from head to toe, using the sack of flesh as a gruesome disguise…the same assassins who now stood before _him!_

They were children, a boy and girl, aged ten or perhaps eleven, with lustrous white hair and piercing purple eyes—twins, from the looks of them. The boy sported a pageboy cut, while the girl decorated her lower-back-length hair with a black ribbon. Both wore gothic-looking clothes. With a start, the man realized they had to be the same kids who had invited him. Quaking and sweating, he stammered, “W-who…who the _fuck_ are you two?”

The boy smiled a maniacal smile and bowed, saying, “I’m Hansel—”

“—And I’m Gretel,” added the girl, curtsying in such a way that her panties were exposed. Their captive was not at all aroused.

“And we,” they spoke together, “are the Vigilante Twins.” The siblings beamed evilly at him.

The man whimpered and tried not to look right at them. “What do you want with me?”

The twins turned to each other, still smiling, nodded and returned their attention to him. “We grew up in an orphanage in Romania during the later years of the Cold War,” said Gretel. “After Ceauşescu died, the orphanage was shut down. The people who took us in were—”

“—Not very nice,” Hansel said. “Were they, _sora mea?_ ”

“No, _fratele meu,_ ” Gretel answered her brother, “not very nice at all.” They stared at him. Stared like some sort of predatory eldritch horror stalking its prey. “They hurt us.”

Hansel exclaimed with an insane twinkle in his eyes, “They beat us!”

Gretel added, “They raped us!”

“They made us hurt the other children!”

“They made us _kill_ them, too!”

“And you know what?” the twins queried as one again. “We found out… _we liked it!_ ”

“So,” continued Hansel as he patted the pants-pissing pervert on the cheek, “we escaped and became contract killers. We killed anyone for the right price.”

“Or just for fun,” tittered his sister, hiding her mouth in her hands.

“ _Or_ just for fun,” Hansel echoed. The boy sighed, his face expressing nostalgia. “And when we heard of Roanapur, Thailand, we _knew_ we had to visit. And it was the most fun we’ve ever had.”

“The _most!_ ” Gretel concurred, rapidly nodding. “Lots and lots of places to go, people to kill…”

“Up until,” Hansel went on, “we took a Russian home to play. We stuck nails into him over and over. Big ones, too.”

By this time, the child-molester wannabe’s face had turned a remarkable mixed shade of green and gray. It was as though his body couldn’t decide whether he should defecate, vomit, have a heart attack, or any combination thereof. _Jesus Christ, what have I gotten myself into?!_

“If you put them in his head, it twitched like a fish, even after he died!” the girl exclaimed with an eerie grin as she played with a strand or two of hair. “It’s too bad that he and our other playmate happened to work for Miss Balalaika. She was mean. She almost caught us, too. But I met a nice man at the docks one day, and he helped us.”

“With our escape,” added Hansel, “ _and_ our worldview.” He beckoned to Gretel, and they wandered off, only to come back dragging another unconscious person behind them.

“This is the cameraman,” said Gretel, and slapped the bloody, baseball-capped guy awake. Hansel gave him a digital camcorder and told him to film them. The man, broken and near-catatonic from days of extensive torture, obeyed at once.

The twins began to undress in front of their bizarre audience. The way Hansel and Gretel kissed and touched each other, under different circumstances, might have been perceived as sweet and innocent, even _if_ one acknowledged the incestuous connotations. Any sexual thrill the degenerate would have felt normally was buried by a crushing feeling of mortal terror. This, however, the murderous pair intended to immediately correct.

Hansel kneeled between the man’s splayed legs and nuzzled the larger cock as his sister ground herself against his well-formed butt, glancing from time to time over her shoulder to make sure the cameraman was still recording. “Mmm,” he murmured, and licked up and down the length of it before taking it in his little mouth and sucking away.

Gretel spread Hansel’s cheeks, admiring his little pink asshole. She leaned close and licked it. The rough moan her brother made said he liked it, so she buried her face in his ass and tongued him.

 

Hansel, prepubescent stiffy twitching, moaned in pleasure as he impaled himself on the slick involuntary erection. “You see,” he said in between gasps for breath, “now we don’t murder just anybody.”

Gretel chortled as she gaily jilled off, “Yeah, now we go after perverted scum like you—like the freaks who abused us!” The twins' bloodthirsty tendencies hadn't been dampened so much as focused. In any case, the underlying psychosexual dysfunctions remained.

“ _And_ the smug imbeciles who think justice is served by locking you up!” Hansel cried. After another minute or so, the boy came, his young load dribbling through his hands.

Gretel climbed atop the captive pervert, sharing a passionate kiss with Hansel on the way. The man struggled despite his bonds, so she punched him in the nuts. For a little girl, she packed a wallop—the pedo didn’t scream so much as wheeze. “Behave,” Gretel said like a schoolteacher disciplining a student, waggling a disapproving finger. All the excitement had gotten her very wet indeed. She sighed as the fat cock disappeared between her nether lips; even though she hadn’t been penetrated by an adult in a long time, it went in without any trouble.

In addition to the glow of the shaft inside her and her own fingers teasing her cute little clit and perky nipples, Gretel was enjoying Hansel rimming her. “Ah, _dragă frate,_ ” she panted, her sex making gentle, squishy noises, “you always know how to make me happy! Oooh!”

In the midst of all this, their victim couldn’t suppress his carnal urges. He began thrusting up into Gretel’s underage pussy. There was no doubt in his mind that he would not live to tell the tale, so he might as well take what little pleasure he could from this.

Gretel dislodged the slippery rod from her young depths, stepped off the man, and kicked him in the testicles—this time, for the hell of it. Ignoring the muffled groans of pain, she and Hansel kneeled and sucked him off further.

“Oh God…oh dear God…UHFF!” the deviant shouted as he went over the edge, and his hot, gooey cum shot into the twins’ adorable faces. They still lapped at his penis, making sure to get every last creamy drop.

“And now…” Gretel snickered. The man’s eyes widened as Hansel brought a pair of scissors from behind his back. The metal blades gave off a cold gleam in the low light. Down they went, closer and closer, sharp edges closing ’round his manhood…

“ _Snip!_ ” sang the twins.

The shrill, tormented scream rang hollow in the desolate Cajun night.  
 

  
Eyes shut in ecstasy, Gretel drove the severed erection in and out of her. “ _Da_ _, da, da! Am de gând să vină!_ ” she whined. Her back arched from the sweet stimulation. “I’m going to come!” And she did, holding the bloody phallus deep inside, vaginal muscles rippling with the force of her climax, juices staining the floor. Gretel opened her eyes and mouth to accept Hansel’s kiss. “Mmm…”

They turned to the wriggling, sobbing, exsanguinating tub still lying against the wall. “Shall we finish up, sister?” inquired Hansel with a cruel smile.

“Why, yes, brother,” answered Gretel. “I call nail gun.”

In the next fifteen minutes, Hansel and Gretel ultimately and gleefully divested their prisoners of their lives in a methodical and wanton way, using a combination of such depraved means as a carbolic-acid enema, enucleation by pliers, puncture of several exposed vital organs via nail gun and electrocution with cattle prods. The sociopathic siblings lay entwined, covered in blood and gore, making out, when they heard a commotion from outside. Something thudded repeatedly against the front door, followed by a crash, a thunderous bang and rapid footsteps.

“FBI! Come out, show your hands!" yelled an authoritative male voice. “Where are they?”

“Damn, look at that hole!” remarked another.

The twins muttered together, “ _Uh-oh,_ ” and scrambled to dress.

The basement door was kicked in, and twelve heavily-armed, black-clad operators of the FBI Hostage Rescue Team swarmed through. “On the floor, you little fuckers!” the point man roared, shotgun at the ready.

Hansel and Gretel glanced at each other, smiling, and moved. Gretel suddenly had her M1918A2 Browning Automatic Rifle out, and she unloaded on the armored G-men. The room exploded with bullets and muzzle flash.

“FUCK!”

“FIND COVER!”

“I’M HIT!”

“LET’S TANGO, BITCH!”

“PULL BACK! UP THE STAIRS!”

The firefight lasted less than a minute. When the smoke cleared, the Feds were shot full of holes and Hansel and Gretel were gone. As the HRT operators and following agents secured the scene, they swore they heard the children laughing somewhere in the gloom.

“ _Let’s play again…someday…_ ”

 

“ _The body of_ Dateline _host Chris Hansen was found last evening at an abandoned house in New Roads, Louisiana. Two other unidentified bodies, one of which is presumed to be a member of Hansen’s film crew, were also discovered. FBI sources say both appear to have been mutilated, and one sexually assaulted. There has been no comment on the condition of Hansen’s body. Hansen had been missing since May nineteenth, when he and his crew were separated from police while filming an episode of_ To Catch a Predator _in Wilkinson County, Mississippi, and vani—_ ”

Hansel clicked the TV remote, changing to DVD input. Gretel sat on the couch next to him. “Well,” he said, “what do you want to watch, _sora mea?_ ”

Gretel piped, “How about _Hostel: Part II?_ ”

Hansel nodded, fetched the disc, and inserted it in the player. “We have such good taste,” he said with a wicked grin as he pressed PLAY.

“Yes, we do,” replied Gretel, and planted an affectionate smooch on her brother's cheek.

The twins undressed and began to enjoy the movie—and each other.


End file.
